


A Drop of Hope

by PhoenixTiger



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arianna POV, Arianna dealing with season 1 events, Arianna used to work in intelligence, Betrayal, Captain’s name is Priam, Corona's Army, Frederic POV, Frederic and Quirin were friends, Frederic trying to fix everything, Gen, Post-Season/Series 01, Rebellion, Recovery, Varian POV, Varian recovering from events in season 1, black rocks destroying everything, lore may differ from canon, no ships unless you count Frederic/Arianna, takes place during season two technically, that time when Frederic was super tough on crime is brought up, the whole kingdom is a mess, this is why you don't ignore problems until it becomes terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTiger/pseuds/PhoenixTiger
Summary: “I’ll be sure to do everything I can to get him help.”Frederic meant what he said. Quirin is his old friend, and he is going to help him. However, breaking the amber is easier said than done. What he needs is a specialist, someone who knows about formulae and magic—someone, perhaps, who had distilled the Sundrop flower into the concoction that healed Arianna 19 years ago.In the meantime, Frederic realizes he has to deal with the bigger problem. His cover-up of the black rock situation has forced a kingdom-wide emergency. He’s left with a kingdom at its tipping point—angry citizens and food shortages and refugees, and this time, he won’t be able to ignore it.Not only that, but there are rumours that the castle has been infiltrated by a rebellion movement. Arianna realizes she has to to dip back into her past as a covert operative and deal with the shadows threatening the Crown—as well as the sudden return of their old army.Below all this sits an unstable alchemist, a symbol of the kingdom’s failure. How he will tie into all this is still unknown—but as the foremost researcher of the rocks, it may be prudent to get his assistance.
Relationships: Queen Arianna of Corona/King Frederic of Corona (Disney)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Keeping Control

**Act I**

**1\. Keeping Control**

* * *

The carriage arrived just as Frederic blew out his candle for the night.

His unease, kept at bay by the day’s tasks, returned. He followed the lone servant down the stairs, his insides winding tighter and tighter with every step he took. He had already made the decision, but part of him had wished his friend would decline. So that he could say his reluctance was due to events outside his control.

But his letter had been answered. And now, he had dragged an old friend into this mess.

Graham was warming his hands by the fire when Frederic entered the sitting room, and looked up as the king approached. The first thing that struck Frederic was how _young_ he looked. Graham always had a habit of promoting the youth-keeping properties of his herbal soup, but Frederic didn’t believe it actually worked so well. The man looked even younger than he did, despite being older than him. The thought brought a fleeting sense of envy.

“Your majesty,” said Graham, bowing slightly. Even his voice sounded younger than Frederic would expect. He noticed that the servant, who had retreated to the side of the room, had shot Graham a disapproving look for not bowing properly. Frederic didn’t really mind. Quirin had been the formal one, not Graham.

“Sir Graham,” said Frederic, smiling. “My friend. How have you been?”

“Well,” said Graham. He looked weary. “Cliffside is a very serene place to live.”

Frederic felt his worry rise. “I hope this isn’t an inconvenience,” he said.

Graham shrugged. “Oh, not at all,” he said. “It was honestly getting a little boring.” He met Frederic’s eyes, and grinned. “I do expect this to shake things up a little, eh?”

Frederic relaxed and gave a small chuckle. “Well, that may be an understatement,” he said, before remembering the servant looking displeased in the corner. He waved to dismiss her, and only after the door closed behind her, he added, “Come with me.”

Frederic led his friend up the staircase. The hallways seemed empty without the patrolling guards, or his daughter and her friends. They were all out fighting the black rocks, while he stayed to contain the damage. Another worry he quickly banished.

They entered his study, where he relit the candle on the desk and motioned for Graham to sit on one of the couches.

“You have read of why I called you here,” began Frederic. Graham nodded.

“These spiked growths,” he said. “You want me to help.”

Frederic nodded. “Partially. We could certainly use your expertise.” He paused. “I know you’ve done so much for us already.”

“How is the queen?” asked Graham. Frederic raised an eyebrow at the use of her title.

“She’s well,” said Frederic. “And if it weren’t for you...”

“It was my job,” said Graham, glancing away in embarrassment. “No need to thank me.”

They had certainly been apart for too long. Graham almost seemed awkward in his presence, and Frederic wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Well,” said Frederic, before clearing his throat. “We do need some help with the rocks, but there’s something else.” The image of his friend, encased in harsh amber light, flashed in his vision. “It’s Quirin—he’s trapped inside.”

Graham frowned. “Your friend?”

Frederic blinked at him for a moment. “Our friend, yes,” he said. Frederic remembered Graham’s age. Despite outward appearances, he could be a forgetful man, and he recalled that Graham and Quirin weren’t that close.

Graham nodded. “Ah, that’s right.” He paused, considering. “What do you mean, ‘trapped inside’?”

“It seems to be a different substance from the actual rocks,” said Frederic. He pulled open a drawer. “Where is it... ah.” He pulled out a few sheets of paper. “I sent my archivist to inspect it, and this is the report.” He handed them to Graham, who began scanning the black ink. “The rocks reacted to some kind of alchemy, and probably grew around him.”

“It reacted to alchemy?” asked Graham, all traces of exhaustion disappearing. “How, exactly? What did it react with?”

“It was this green mixture that caused an… orange growth to multiply out of the rock. I don’t know what it was, exactly, but it almost encased Arianna...” Frederic shivered at the memory. When he glanced back at Graham, he was staring at him intently.

“How did it happen?” asked Graham.

There was a pause.

“Arianna was abducted,” said Frederic, fighting to keep his voice neutral, “by a traitor of the name Varian. Quirin’s son. It has been _dealt with_ already,” he quickly added, perhaps more for his own peace of mind than his friend’s, “but I saw him attempt to encase her with the same substance.”

Frederic waited for his response. Graham’s face was unreadable, which was unusual for him.

“So this Varian,” said Graham slowly. “He is the one with the formula that created this growth?”

Frederic nodded. “I believe he created the amber growth that is encasing Quirin,” he said. “But the black rocks were my doing.” At Graham’s questioning look, he explained, “The usage of the sundrop flower must have caused it.”

“Hm,” muttered Graham. He resumed his examination of the report. “I take it this Varian is the person who levelled Old Corona Village?”

“Yes,” said Frederic. “And he’s exceedingly dangerous.”

A small silence settled over the two men.

“What do you think?” asked Frederic, as Graham pored over the notes. “Do you have any ideas?”

The healer didn’t answer immediately. “This is his father?” he asked, flipping the piece of paper over.

Frederic nodded. He realised he had never formally told Graham that Quirin had a son. “Him and Selena’s.”

“And this happened months ago? Are there any more notes about this growth?”

“No, these are all we have. We didn’t learn of this until several weeks prior, actually. We’ve been occupied with clearing the damage done by his machines.” If the rocks had made Old Corona uninhabitable before, Varian certainly hadn’t helped.

Graham handed the papers back to Frederic. “You say he’s an alchemist of sorts?” he asked. He didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer. “Then I’m willing to bet he knows a lot about these rocks. He must have studied it for months.”

Frederic’s heart sped up. “You mean, ask for his help?” he asked sharply. _No._ The thought of working _with_ the man, after what he did...

“If you want to save Quirin, then he should help,” said Graham. “You believe he created the amber. He knows more than me about its properties.”

Frederic shook his head. Part of him saw the logic, but he. Just. Couldn’t. “No,” he said. He was aware of the force in his voice, and inwardly winced. “I cannot allow it.”

Graham didn’t seem to respond badly. “Then I make no promises,” he said. “I’m no expert in these matters.”

Frederic almost laughed, his fear pushed aside. Graham, not an expert? But he didn’t want to antagonise him further, so instead, he said, “Again, I thank you for helping. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Graham gently held up a hand. “It’s no issue,” he said, smiling. “Anything for you, your majesty.”

Frederic smiled at his friend’s amiable formality. In other circumstances, he would have welcomed the chance to properly catch up, but as it were... “We can discuss this tomorrow. I’ll have a servant show you to your room,” he said, waving for someone to come over. Graham bowed slightly, before following the servant out.

It wasn’t until the footsteps died that Frederic realised that Graham hadn’t yet agreed to help.

* * *

Arianna sipped her tea. It was already cold, but the herbal aroma calmed her. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting here, watching the stars, but she couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t tired, anyway.

She heard Frederic enter the room behind her.

“Still up?” came his voice. Arianna turned away from the stars and placed the cup on the table. 

“I could ask the same thing,” she said. He looked tired again, the bags under his eyes even more prominent than yesterday. “You know you shouldn’t stay up so late.”

Some of Frederic’s exhaustion left him. “Come, now. Doesn’t that apply to you as well?”

“I don’t look like I’m about to pass out,” she said, smiling a little. “You do.”

Frederic began changing into his night-clothes. “I had to meet Graham,” he said. Arianna perked up.

“Graham arrived?” she asked. He nodded. Arianna settled back into her chair. Graham had saved her life. He had saved Rapunzel’s life. She knew that he was one of Frederic’s oldest friends and that he had served his family since he was a child. She was glad for his help, but she felt wrong to drag him out of retirement like this.

“I don’t like it either,” said Frederic, guessing her thoughts. “But we need all the help we can get.”

This was true. “He’s returning, then?” she asked, as Frederic fell into the bed.

Arianna detected a moment's hesitation before Frederic answered. “He suggested we ask Varian for help.”

Arianna’s muscles coiled at the name. _Varian_. The boy had tried to kill her. By all logic, she should hate him—and a part of her _did_ —but she also felt an overpowering pity. He was lost, but he also wanted to hurt those she loved. She had been unable to reason with him; all he gave her was rage and vitriol. She couldn’t bring herself to try again. A large part of her knew that he was too far gone, but she still hoped.

She doubted Graham could help. The healer was kind, but someone could only help if they _let_ them.

“I think we should be careful,” said Arianna.

“Oh, we will be very careful. I won’t let Graham get hurt,” said Frederic fiercely.

Arianna shook her head. She knew that antagonising the boy would make his condition worse, but she couldn’t really see another option without putting people in danger. “Old Corona,” she said. “How are things?”

“Most of the people have already relocated, so it was difficult getting enough manpower to rebuild,” he said, seeming glad for the subject change. “The remaining people were surprisingly efficient at fixing things, though. They’ve helped make a temporary wall to support the soldiers I have stationed there.”

Arianna nodded. “Most of the people I talked to were willing to spare rooms. We should be able to give the relocated people places to stay.”

“Good,” said Frederic, yawning. “Are you going to sleep? The bed is very nice.”

Arianna inwardly smiled. “I think I’ll stay up for a bit longer. You sleep without me.”

“Good night, darling,” said Frederic. Arianna opened her mouth to respond, but he had already fallen asleep. That was good, she told herself. He needed his strength for the meeting tomorrow.

She picked up her tea again, sighing. She should be tired after walking around Corona all day, but she didn’t want to sleep. She could still feel the cold metal around her, pressing against her ribs, forcing the blood to her head, crushing her bones until her vision swam with black spots. She could see the glinting, translucent claws of amber reaching towards her, intent on suffocating her. She could hear Rapunzel’s cries as the drill threatened to kill her.

_No. Stop_. Arianna took another gulp of tea, focusing on its sharp textures instead. This was in the past. They would fade into the back of her mind, and she would cope, just like she coped with not knowing whether her daughter was alive for eighteen years. This was nowhere as bad as that feeling of helpless loneliness.

That kind of emotion could drive someone to do desperate things. She had seen it in Frederic, when he tightened the law and put Jordis Ilenzo in charge of security. The year that followed had more executions than the previous decade. She had seen it in herself, in supporting the action.

And she had seen it recently, in a boy who had lost his father.

Arianna didn’t want to think of that. The kingdom had enough to deal with without worrying about one person’s pain. People were dying. The land was tearing itself apart. She knew that the people were more important than the individual.

She understood him, she thought. But she knew that for the kingdom, he had to be kept away from the public. She felt sympathy for him, but he didn’t want her help. She knew that there was not much she could do for him anyway.

She knew this. And she knew she needed to move forward. Despite her pity, she had a duty to the kingdom, to stay strong.

And so, she sipped her tea.

* * *

It had been a week. Or maybe two. It wasn’t Varian’s fault the window was facing the wrong direction from the sun. He hadn’t bothered keeping track because that was what _they_ expected him to do. But he was _reasonably_ sure it had been a week, so that was what he assumed.

A week of doing _nothing_. At first, he’d thought, _Fine_. He had his mind, his most important tool. He didn’t need paper to hypothesise. He knew half his books by heart anyway. But oh, how much faster would progress be if he had all his indices and proper notes and apparatuses to test his theories? The ideas had to be stacked up in his mind until he had the chance to test them all and that wasn’t even counting what he left behind. A piece of paper was a perfectly reasonable request, but he was ignored.

He didn’t know why he bothered. Relying on _them_ for anything was stupid; it was the whole reason he was _in_ this mess. They’d ignored him for this long; they weren’t about to stop any time soon.

As it were, he couldn’t afford to forget anything. At least reciting his notes to himself took up time, but it was hard not thinking of everything _else_ he could’ve been doing instead.

It would have been better if Ruddiger was here. But that wasn’t allowed. More lies, most likely. To think of what they were doing to his friend! They were probably acting out of spite; he _did_ try to kill the queen and Cassan—

No. They had deserved it. Cassandra attacked him. The queen was just as bad as the king, and just as bad as _her_ , with their lies and their smiles, letting the world burn as long as their perfect little lives stayed perfect. It was _never their problem_ and he had been _so close_ in making everyone _see_ , but no, they had once again twisted the truth, and now _he_ was wrong and _she_ was right, because he had the nerve to disagree with their tyranny.

Because that was what it was. Rulers with absolute power, manipulating history so they remained on top. He was surprised it had taken him so long to see.

He passed the stone slab again. He had to fight to stop himself from sitting down. His legs hurt from walking all the time, but he couldn’t rest, not when his dad was counting on him to find the answer. He was close, he could feel it. The amber had _reacted_ to her hair. Combined with the proper formula to counter-react to his original compound...

The grinding of metal on stone snapped his attention to the cell door. He saw the bowl, shoved crudely through the gap under the door, lurch to a stop, its contents sloshing dangerously. The sound of footsteps hurried away—no one seemed willing to linger near him these days. That was fine.

They gave him woefully little ‘food’. Perhaps they thought him young, and thus needed less? He wasn’t hungry, mind, (well, he was, but not for _that_ ); rather, he’d found the ‘food’ had some polymeric properties if he removed water, _but there was never enough to properly test_. Its dehydrated form didn’t appear to be reversible, so he couldn’t stockpile it. There was simply no way he could make sufficient use of its elastic properties with the little bowl he got every so often.

So he ate it. He didn’t care how it tasted so long as he kept his mind off those little ham sandwiches he made by slicing the loaf super thin and layering the ham so that it was all springy and light and—stop. He shoved the rest of the ‘food’ down. He _wouldn’t_ care what he ate, so long as he kept his faculties at their peak. His dad couldn’t afford any lapses.

He kept the empty bowl in his hands as he resumed his pacing. Pacing helped with idea flow. He needed all the ideas he could generate. He _still_ didn’t know how these so-called ‘magical’ properties worked with alchemy. Was it a separate system? Did he need to test reactions between ‘magical’ compounds in an isolated manner and index his findings? If they were separate, why did his solution react with the rocks?

Varian massaged his head. Why was this so _hard_? He had no way of sounding out his ideas because no one was here to listen, not even Ruddiger. Why was it so hard to get people to _listen_? To _care_? He couldn’t even evaluate ideas off a piece of paper because he had none. He had to keep his head in constant ache just to try and remember everything. It wasn’t even _working_. He couldn’t even remember what he came up with yesterday.

Another exercise in futility.

“Is this what you want?” he shouted. There was no answer, or course. He didn’t think anyone could hear him, not since they moved him down here. That was fine—shouting helped released the knot inside him either way.

“Seeing me fail is funny, is it? Hilarious. I’m doubling up, here—oh wait, it’s because I’m starving and you don’t care.”

His throat began to hurt. “Well guess what?” he called, his voice tearing out of him. “ _I_. Don’t. Care.”

His dad would’ve scolded him for disrespect. His dad wasn’t here right now. His dad would still understand what he was trying to do.

Wouldn’t he?

Varian stopped shouting—it was pointless anyway. Everything was, nowadays. Any relief he had gained was lost as soon as he stopped. Fleeting. Reversible. The only thing that stayed was his raw throat.

He blinked to clear his vision, re-channeling his despair into something _useful_. He rebuilt his wall of _purposeful indignation_. His old, cracked, shroud of anger. He needed to stay focused. His dad was counting on him.

It was _their_ fault. Never forget that.


	2. Morning Tomorrow

_Reward over consequence. It was not my style—in my business, one doesn’t live long by taking risks. Yet I came; access to the castle was too good an opportunity to pass up. It was a risk, but with the possibility for untold reward. This was something I had to do. If anyone was still alive..._

* * *

**2\. Morning Tomorrow**

Frederic awoke to an insistent tapping on the door.

_Oh, for the love of..._

He was tempted to roll over and cover his ears, but then he remembered the state of his kingdom.

Black rocks. Refugees. Right.

He pushed himself up with a groan, noticing that Arianna was not there. There was a note on her pillow:

_Short notice, urgent CA. Back tonight. A_

Frederic had to push away his worry. It had been years since Arianna had to deal directly with covert affairs. He knew he should trust her, but given recent events with Old Corona, Frederic found it difficult to stop worrying about her safety.

At yet another sharp rap on the door, he had to fight to keep his voice level.

“Yes?” he called.

“Your Majesty, may I enter?” It was Nigel.

“Is it urgent?” he asked.

“Well,” Nigel hesitated, “I suppose everything can be deemed urgent at this time. But I’ve been told there is a ‘dire situation’ at Lindenport.”

Lindenport. He sat up straight. That reminded him—he had a meeting with the village leaders today. With the arrival of Graham, it had completely slipped his mind.

Nigel continued. “The leader of Lindenport requests a personal audience. Shall I grant it?”

“Ask him if it is a life or death situation,” said Frederic. “If not, he can wait until the meeting.”

There was a slight pause. “Of course, your Majesty,” said Nigel, and his footsteps faded.

Frederic sighed. He did not enjoy the prospect of meeting with dozens of concerned citizens, least of all meeting with their leaders. The reassurances, the empty promises, the verbal gymnastics. Normally, it would have been fine, but spending day after day of listening to bad news from every corner...

He needed a break, but there was no time for that. He needed to review the documents detailing his propositions in time for the meeting. Arianna wouldn’t like him missing breakfast but, well.

Another knock on the door.

Frederic swallowed an angry response. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Frederic, it’s Graham,” said his friend. Frederic’s heart lifted, then promptly sank when he remembered why Graham was here.

“Come in,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too weary. The door opened, and Graham entered. Frederic was again taken aback by how youthful he looked in this light.

“I’m not interrupting anything important?” asked Graham, stopping in the doorway.

Frederic shook his head. “Not at this moment,” he said, “but I forgot to mention that I have to attend a meeting with the village leaders later this day. Let’s talk in my study.”

* * *

“Have you decided whether you will help us?” asked Frederic as he laid out his notes for the meeting.

“Of course,” said Graham, sounding slightly surprised. “I thought that was the situation the whole time.”

“Oh,” said Frederic. His relief was dampened by the same guilt he felt last night, as burdening someone else—he suppressed it, as guilt was not a feeling he should have right now.

“By the way, is my daughter here?” asked Graham. It took Frederic a few moments to process his question.

“General Ilenzo? No, I’m afraid not. She’s been stationed elsewhere for a few years, now,” said Frederic, sympathetic. He wouldn’t want to be told, after a long journey, that the daughter he had yearned to reunite with was unavailable.

Graham simply nodded, giving no reaction to the news. “I still believe it prudent to collaborate with Quirin’s son,” he said.

 _Quirin’s son_. Taking Graham out of retirement was one thing, but asking him to have direct contact with a dangerous criminal was another. Frederic did not want to put his friend in danger, no matter the logic.

It went further than that, he realised. Thinking about the alchemist made his breathing quicken. He would rather put the entire incident from his mind. Frederic did not want to deal with treason on top of everything else.

Frederic was about to say no, when he remembered his own words.

_“I’ll be sure to do everything I can to get him help.”_

He had meant helping to free Quirin—but had he meant more? After all, Varian was Quirin’s son. Should he be doing more for him?

Regardless, it was potentially an edge he could use to help Quirin, and Frederic _had_ promised to do everything he could.

“You can speak to our archivist regarding her research on the amber,” said Frederic. “She’s currently camped in Old Corona. And,” He almost hesitated. “I’ll inform the guard that you might want to meet with the alchemist.”

Graham nodded. “I’d like to speak with him first,” he said. “I need more information on the growth, and I still believe it is our best chance of saving our friend.”

Frederic’s heart beat faster. This was too soon. He didn’t want to deal with the alchemist right _now_ —he hadn’t thought of the reality of arranging a meeting with the man.

Frederic reminded himself that it was all for Quirin. He knew that it was Graham’s decision, not his. Graham thought it necessary, and Graham was the expert.

“Frederic?”

“Very well,” said Frederic. His meeting with the leaders was pushed to the back of his mind. There was no way he could focus on that now. “I’ll inform the guard. But afterwards, I need you to travel to Old Corona and examine the situation—that is still the larger priority.”

Graham nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

Arianna tried to stay calm as she entered the darkness. She was here of her own will this time. She focused on this fact, keeping the unwanted images and sensations at bay. Despite the damage, the main entrance was still intact.

 _I hope the house doesn’t collapse into the tunnels,_ she thought. It was surprisingly sturdy. Despite having a machine smash through the floor, the supports underneath held. The same could be said of the giant hole in the wall, which had simply been boarded up.

She had to double down on her unease when she entered the laboratory, with its grotesque amber centerpiece stark against the dark stone. Here was where she had almost lost her life—and where she had almost lost her daughter.

Arianna slowly exhaled. Rapunzel was fine. Her family was safe.

Although most of the wreckage in the village had been cleared, it was evident that no one really bothered to clean Quirin’s house. All someone had done was patch up the hole in the walls and floor with wooden boards. The rest of the room seemed to be the same as when she had been trapped here—papers strewn all over the desks, half-empty flasks scattered about, spikes impaling the walls and floor. She even saw traces of that purple substance that had been used to trap her family and had to suppress a shiver.

Arianna pushed her stray thoughts away and ducked sideways, into the main stairwell. The laboratory was not what she was here for. She began to change her outfit: the dress for a traveler’s shirt and trousers, covered with a thick coat. She put her hair up and removed her jewelry. It was imperative that she did not look like royalty, and when she was finished, she tucked her royal clothing in a sack and stashed it under the stairs.

When she left, it was through another door. This was why she came in—to make any observers think that she spent the afternoon helping the archivist, who was due to arrive later.

As the outdoors breeze hit her face, she knew the other reason she came here: she wanted to see the house for herself, and reassure her that it was all over. She didn’t want to forever associate it with unpleasant memories.

 _Focus,_ she thought. She needed her mind sharp. Walking outdoors and keeping busy helped with that. Ever since her daughter left, she had spent her days on the ground, dealing with the people with her own hands. When she occupied herself like that, she found it easier to deal with unpleasant thoughts. At night, the more tired she was, the easier it was to sleep.

The area north of Old Corona was deserted. Arianna was sure no one had seen her, but she took a detour in the woods anyway. Even here, the black rocks grew, upending trees and disrupting plants. They were less frequent the further she travelled, but they were a constant reminder that Corona was being destroyed.

Arianna didn’t know it had gotten this bad until she had seen it for herself. She was glad for the reminder. It kept her focused on the problem, and being focused meant she had something _else_ to think about.

The meeting point was in ‘Solitude’, an isolated grove in the far northeast of Corona, far from any major town. She had not been there in years—her leadership duties came first. It was too risky to go into the field herself. Yet last night, long after everyone was asleep, she received a message:

_Redsong. Solitude._

When she checked with Priam, he’d told her that he’d received the same note. No one knew about Redsong except for the people in the original Nightingales. All but three of its members had disappeared, and the group had long disbanded. Arianna had been glad for it, as it meant that she could close that chapter of her life, yet here she was.

She knew she couldn’t have asked Saicus to take care of it. Arianna wasn’t officially part of covert affairs, but she was the only one Jordis trusted that was fit enough to travel. Priam was still recovering after the attack on Corona.

“Arianna,” said a voice. She had not seen the speaker approach—her observation skills were out of practice. Arianna made sure she looked and sounded calm before responding.

“Jordis,” she said. She could now see that Jordis had approached from the left, bypassing her vision. The woman looked guarded, with rigid posture and cold eyes. It was far from a friendly reunion. The dark armour reminded Arianna that she had become General Ilenzo—just as Arianna had become Queen, and Priam Captain of the Guard. 

“Priam couldn’t come?” asked Jordis.

“He’s injured,” said Arianna. Jordis accepted the explanation without fanfare.

”I’ll make this quick,” said Jordis. “I don’t fully trust who I left in charge while I’m away.”

Jordis glanced around quickly, and came closer.

“The base in the Flame Isles has been attacked,” she said. “Overwhelming force. It’s been too quiet for too long, no one was prepared.”

Arianna digested this for a moment. The Flame Isles base was the main headquarters of the Coronan army—an army that had not seen use for years. Frederic’s orders. Arianna thought it had to do with the devastation it had wrought last time, when Frederic let grief take control of his rule. 

“I managed to evacuate, along with a hundred or so troops,” said Jordis. “We’ve set up camp near the wall. But we’ve lost our position—including every asset we’ve been keeping there.”

Arianna knew that by ‘asset’, Jordis wasn’t just talking about equipment and weaponry. She was talking about people.

“You need to keep your troops here, for now,” said Arianna. “The kingdom is in a state of emergency, and there is no space in the castle barracks.”

“Arianna, the army was just _attacked_. Whatever emergency you’re having here, the kingdom needs its army. We need to prepare for _war_.”

Arianna knew that Corona couldn’t afford a war. Not now. “Do you know who attacked?”

“It could have been Equis, though I doubt it,” said Jordis. “My guess is that this is internal. The biggest reason to attack the Flame Isles would be for Evelin.”

“Who’s Evelin?”

“A prominent member of the so-called Equilibrium Movement,” said Jordis, looking disgusted. “It’s not their style, but ever since Kael—their leader—died, we don’t know what type’s running the show.”

“You’re saying the rebellion did this?” Arianna knew that Saicus had seen increased activity of the rebellion in Lindenport lately, but she wasn’t sure if they had the capability to launch a full-scale attack on a military base.

“Fairly certain,” said Jordis. “Anyway, that’s the situation. You need to convince the king that he needs to take his army back. I’ll do some preliminary setup, and we can start the counter.” Jordis glanced at a pocket-watch. “We should both get back.”

That was her goodbye. Jordis did not say anything more; she just turned and walked away. Arianna couldn’t help but think this rude. She knew, when she was in the Nightingales, that this was simply efficient, but she had become used to fighting her battles with politeness and social maneuvering. She realised that it was difficult, switching back to her Nightingale mindset, after years of being a queen.

She had given up that life after she became a ruler with Frederic. Even though she would advise Saicus on covert operations at times, she spent most of her efforts on leading the people as best she could. Did she miss that life?

Arianna would say no. She liked working in the light far more than working in the shadows. As queen, she could see the effects of her decisions reflected in her people’s eyes, in a way she never could before. Nor would she be able to live openly with her family had she remained a Nightingale.

Frederic and Rapunzel were her pride and joy. Arianna wouldn’t trade it for anything.

* * *

Varian heard footsteps. This was notable, because the only times he heard another person was when they delivered his ‘food’. This time, there were several pairs of feet, meaning that something _special_ was happening.

He was ready before he heard the key turn in the lock. He had to always be ready. No one, least of all _them_ , could see him let up even a little. They were trying to keep him blind, separating him from everyone except their manipulators, trying to make sure the only things he saw were blank walls and solid door so that he wouldn’t see them coming—how wrong they were.

He was not blind—far from it.

The wooden door groaned open and no less than three—no, four—shiny guards entered and a part of him wanted to stare in disbelief. Here was this scrawny looking youth ( _not_ a child) standing a head shorter than the smallest guard; what did they think he was going to do, mutate into a giant muscle-man with alchemy? It was a stupid idea to send _more_ people, really. All he was inclined to do was make his argument and make them see just how the king was using them. There were four sets of ears. Surely at least one would not be as deaf as the others?

Varian decided against it. These people were too duty-bound to Corona. They wouldn’t have been guards if they weren’t. His fight wasn’t here. 

Varian would have walked himself if he could; instead, he was half-dragged, half-carried by his arms, while the other two hemmed him in from the front and back. Given Varian’s build, it was extremely unnecessary. He was starting to suspect that they weren’t overestimating his strength so much as acting out of spite. Queen Arianna was a figure beloved by the public. This had to be a show of power—to try and push him to _break_ so that their ‘perfect’ power structure stayed intact. All he did was try to _help_ , voice himself louder than others had dared, and now they were pretending that he was wrong.

 _You were wrong, though._ If he had only gotten more _time_ , if only the queen had not freed herself at that _precise moment_ —

Varian was brought to another room, with a table in the middle. _This_ room. The last time he had been here, it was to be scrutinised and medically examined. Instead of the doctor, however, the table sat a man he didn’t recognise.

What was this? An interrogation? _Another_ doctor? 

The man frowned as Varian’s escort all but threw him onto the opposite chair. Despite having plenty of experience being knocked around, he was not used to consistent force directed against him. The impact _hurt_ , not that he’d ever let them know. Varian took care not to show any expressions of weakness.

Varian sat there, his muscles rigid. Whatever this was, he would make it through.

“Leave us,” said the man.

The guard to the left started. “Uh. But, His Majesty asked us to keep you safe...”

“Perhaps so, but there is no need for you to be in the same room,” he said.

The two guards glanced at each other, then at the man—no, at something he was wearing. A badge of some sort. Varian recognised the symbol of Corona, but as part of another symbol he supposed must be a sign of rank, because the left guard nodded slowly.

“Very well,” he said, not sounding very sure. “If you prefer, we can stand outside.”

His companion shot him a glance. “But first sign of trouble, we come in. That fair?”

The man nodded. “Fine.”

The guards looked at each other again and left the room. The gentle click of the door shutting reverberated in the quiet.

All the more reason to distrust whoever this was. The kind of authority to override their _majestic_ king meant that this man cannot be taken lightly.

The man made no move other than regard Varian with a deep expression of thought.

“What?” spat Varian, loading his tone with contempt. If they thought they could unnerve him to throw him off-guard, they were sorely mistaken.

“Apologies. You’re simply younger than I expected,” said the man. He spoke with muted inflection, like he was testing the waters. “I am Graham Ilenzo, former healer of the Coronan royals.”

Graham paused, as though waiting for a response—or perhaps reaction. Varian dignified him with neither.

“Tell me what happened,” said Graham. What, did he want a confession of sorts? For him to tell some sob story?

“I’m sure His Majesty can fill you in, if he hasn’t already,” said Varian.

“He has explained his version of events,” said Graham. “But I’d like to hear yours. You were much more involved.”

Varian waited for his cue to attack with his crafted argument. He waited for the hook, the condition, the moment he revealed what he wanted.

Eventually, he settled on “Why should I even talk to you?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said Graham.

 _But you’re going to—_ try _—to make me anyway_ , he thought. Still, Graham said that he didn’t need to say anything. Why not take him up on the offer?

Varian stayed silent, staring directly into those _calm_ eyes. He refused to break gaze for five—ten—twenty seconds. Graham did not speak, but began to look a little unsettled. He masked it well, but it was a victory nonetheless. Yet Graham still did not speak.

After what felt like whole minutes, Graham broke eye contact. But still, nobody spoke, until Varian couldn’t stand this game of will anymore.

“Is there anything else?” he asked, consciously suppressing his desire to explain that _Graham_ had said it was his choice. He didn’t want to sound desperate.

What was with all this anyway? The dismissal of guards, and the false choice. What was the point? To lull him into a false sense of security so he would be inclined to trust?

After a brief moment of silence, Graham shook his head. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll start.” He paused, looking at Varian and sat down opposite him again. Varian regarded him warily. He expected the question would come up later—there was no way they were going to let him _not_ answer. “The king told me of the rock infestation threatening the land. He also told me of your father’s predicament. He wants to help him, and so he’s asked me to contribute.”

Varian couldn’t help but snort bitterly. _Oh, of course His Majesty wanted to help. That was why he ignored all my requests._

“You, however, are the one with the most experience with this growth. Simply put, if I’m to help, I need _your_ help.”

And there was the reason. They wanted his knowledge. Varian’s first instinct was to refuse, but he couldn’t see the logic behind such a decision. Even if they were lying, if they _weren’t_ , he could get closer to saving his dad.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to retract the wall he had built. Instead, he said, “Where is Ruddiger?”

The man frowned. “Ruddiger?” Confused and innocent. Likely an act—unless His Majesty forgot to inform his healer about how he had taken away an innocent raccoon—likely alone and afraid—to who-knows-where. Typical.

“Yes, Ruddiger. The raccoon?” Graham genuinely did not seem to know. Perhaps he wasn’t lying, then. “Ask the king. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.”

Graham seemed to consider his words seriously. “I’ll speak to him, then,” he said, “if you don’t want to.”

Even if he did, Varian bet Frederic would not tell him.

“If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine too,” said Graham. “I’m not trying to force anything. It’s just a request.”

A voice underneath Varian’s thrumming anger tore him between saying something and keeping his stance. The result was silence. It wasn’t an agreement—but it wasn’t a refusal either.

Varian waited. That was that, then? But there was more, wasn’t it? Varian didn’t believe that, if _Frederic_ had ordered this, he would just leave it at that.

Graham stood. He was probably glad he didn’t have to spend more time with him, though he couldn’t imagine Frederic would be pleased with his refusal. The king would have to try and find yet another person to do his work for him.

Graham gave Varian another questioning look. Varian continued to say nothing.

Graham nodded. “Alright. If you do, just tell one of the guards.”

It sounded like the end of the meeting. Graham stood up, and walked over to the door, before pausing. “It’s probably not my business, but you strike me as someone going through the motions,” he said suddenly. “Just... make sure you know _why_ before committing.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Graham opened the door and stepped out.

Varian frowned, his rage forgotten. _What? What did that mean?_

It was only temporary. As soon as he saw the guards, the reasons for his rage returned. The meeting was clearly set up to disorient him for some insidious agenda.

Was Frederic _really_ going to give him a choice?

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? A RTA story?
> 
> I started this story quite a while ago (back when RTA was still known as TTS) and I hadn't been planning on publishing it until I had a large chunk of it done but... due to certain events that left little time for writing (2020 did not help), I eventually realised that this would not be viable. So. I decided to publish what I had so far, otherwise it might never see the light of day. 
> 
> This was plotted before season two ended so it is canon divergent; most of season two can still happen as normal, but not the dark kingdom backstory content, nor season three.


End file.
